An Adventurous Lady

by Valerie King

  AN ADVENTUROUS LADY

  By

  Valerie King

  ***

  Kensington Publishing Corp. edition 2004

  Copyright © 2004, 2014 by Twin Bridges Creations

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Formatting and cover by Bella Media Management.

  Published by Twin Bridges Creations LLC at Smashwords.

  First Edition eBook

  ***

  The Five Riddles

  Time is lost

  A smuggler’s weary end

  The world is upside down

  Walls that will not mend

  Devil’s Gate wat opens

  Black the land will be

  Down a path

  A treasure ye will see

  Ye olde well

  Draws water deep

  Of ale and mead

  Made honey-sweet

  Some stones flat

  Others tall

  A bridge in death

  To any wat fall

  Cross the stones

  Cross one to dare

  Pearl and gold within

  Small and rare

  ***

  Chapter One

  Lady Evelina Wesley lifted her lantern high. She stood spellbound before the tall, unruly hedge that separated her property from the Earl of Rotherstone’s estate. The dense, overgrown foliage of blackthorn, hazel, dogwood, oak, and crab apple had almost completely obscured a heavy ancient gate. In mid-July a veritable tangle of creeping ivy clung like a veil to the farthest limbs of the oak and spilled like a waterfall in numerous places over the shrubs.

  The gate, known as Devil’s Gate on the map tucked into the pocket of her cloak, had been precisely positioned at the end of the walnut grove on the eastern edge of her estate. With a little careful search through the ivy, she had uncovered first a rusted iron ring and then the attached wooden gate. She wondered if Lord Rotherstone, her neighbor to the east, had been in the habit of using the gate to visit her uncle before his death some eight months earlier. Had either of the men known of the profound significance of the gate?

  Evelina’s chest felt crushed suddenly with the weight of her discovery. Earlier that day, she had been in the attics of her deceased uncle’s house, now her house, and had found what appeared to be a quite ancient map. The map depicted a treasure buried on Blacklands, Lord Rotherstone’s estate. There was even a gate giving access to his property.

  As she looked at the map now, she understood quite well that all she had to do was give a hard tug, open the gate and step through. Yet she could not. She felt anxious in a manner she could not explain, and her feet felt as though they were strapped to the earth below.

  She lowered the lantern to the ground, trying to understand herself and her sudden reticence. Of course, crossing onto Rotherstone’s lands without his permission was certainly an act of trespassing, but she knew in the deepest places of her heart that this was not why she had grown immobile in the last few minutes. No, something else, something unknown, was troubling her, and that so deeply that she could not bring the thoughts to the forefront of her mind.

  She began to pace back and forth in front of the gate, the lantern the only thing separating her from the hedge. Back and forth, her long cloak sweeping at the dead leaves behind her, whispering to her as she marched.

  How much her life had changed since her uncle’s death. A few months past she had been an impoverished daughter of an earl. Now she was independent, wealthy and able to care for her invalid mother, as well as several of her younger siblings. She had all that she had ever dreamt of possessing. She had no need, none at all, to open the gate before her. She could return the map still couched in her pocket to the attics and bury it once more beneath the rotten wood of the floor from whence it had emerged. She could leave the map, and all its secrets and promises, for those who would follow after her.

  She stopped suddenly and turned sharply to the gate. She swept around the lantern and laid a hand on the ring. She would open the gate tonight. This was her gate to open, no one else’s. The map belonged to her as surely as Wildings Hall belonged to her. Whatever secrets the map held, whatever treasure might be discovered because of the map, these belonged to her. This was her time, hers alone.

  Her gloved fingers slid about the ring. She took a deep breath, preparing to pull very hard, when the words of her eldest brother, the present Earl of Chelwood, returned to her suddenly as from a nightmare.

  Your heart is a rusted gate! What man will ever want you?

  She drew her hand back as though the ring had been on fire. Why had this particular memory chosen to haunt her now?

  Of course, Robert had been in his cups at the time, and the argument had been as old as it was familiar. He had been begging her to restore the family fortunes through an alliance he had forged with a wealthy family of trade. She had not had an objection to marrying for such a reason, since marriages of convenience were common enough. Her family was suffering dreadfully. She knew her duty and would have gladly done it. However, the man presented to her had proved, upon acquaintance, to be addicted to gaming just like her brother. The fortune she was to have wed would have disappeared just as the Chelwood fortune had disappeared.

  Robert had been angry at her refusal, particularly since he had acquired new gaming debts on the expectation of the alliance. However, Evelina had had no sympathy for him. He had continued as their father had begun, running into the ground what had once been a fine, majestic estate.

  That her uncle, Lord Bramber, had been free to leave Wildings estate to whomever he desired, and that he had chosen her, a woman, had been the most surprising, stunning event of her eight and twenty years. The inheritance had set her free forever. She had no need of a husband, no need to pinch every tuppence. She could live life as she desired, she could open any gate before her.

  Yet for all that, she stood before the hedge, the light from the lantern casting shadows into the ivy-laden oak above, and her only thought was whether or not her brother had been right. Was her heart like an old rusted gate, stuck shut for eternity?

  She began her pacing anew. Back and forth, her mind raced with confusion.

  She should wait. She should press on. She should return to the house and the safety of her bedchamber. She should open the gate and see what adventure awaited her. She should think of her family and not do anything to endanger their security or fortune by offending her neighbor, Rotherstone.

  She paused. Through the walnut grove, she caught sight of the distant flickering lights of Wildings Hall and a strange calm descended over her. Wildings had been a new hope, a new beginning for her and her family. Ended were her devastating fears of being forced one day to wed where neither her character nor her heart could dwell happily. Present was every possibility, so why did she hesitate now? What harm could come from a little midnight rambling at the edges of Rotherstone’s property?

  The decision arose from deep within her, from resources perhaps as yet untapped or unrealized, but she would open the gate tonight. First, however, she decided to consult her map again. She plucked it from the pocket of her cloak, and kneeling beside the lantern, studied the terr
ain just beyond the gate once more.

  A sudden rustling behind her, from the direction of the walnut grove, sent a bolt of fear straight through her heart. She flipped around, landing on her bottom.

  “Who’s there?” she said. The grove was heavy in shadow.

  One of the family cats came trotting toward her. He was all black and barely visible against the mass of the walnut grove. He meowed and rubbed against her legs.

  “You ridiculous creature,” she said. “How you frightened me. Have you been following me and watching me this entire time? Well, I suggest you remain at Wildings. Rotherstone will not like that I am on his land, but if he should dislike cats in general, I have no doubt he will eat you alive.”

  The purring sounds that returned to her, and the soft eyes of Frisky, gave no evidence that her warnings had been understood.

  Evelina returned to studying the map, and once satisfied that she understood where it was she needed to go, she gained her feet, picked up the lantern and approached the gate. Though she trembled, she would no longer permit her fears to deter her. With a single, hard, determined pull, she slowly opened the gate.

  Creak, grate, groan. The poor old hinge had not seen oil in a very long time.

  Passing through, Evelina sniffed. The air smelled very different but quite pleasant on Rotherstone’s land. She closed the gate behind her.

  Suddenly, a new fear arose. What if Rotherstone discovered her on his land? He was, by nature and by action, a hard man, unkind to his neighbors, reclusive, unknowable, reputed to be a hardened gamester who lived much of his life in London. Upon inheriting Blacklands some five years past, he had turned out two of his tenant farmers, a circumstance that had shocked the neighborhood. She had never even seen him in the eight months since she had taken up residence in Wildings Hall, just north of the village of Maybridge. Regardless, she knew enough of him to comprehend he would not like her moving about on his estate without his knowledge or permission.

  Again, she chose to ignore her fears. She traveled due east and was pleased that within thirty steps she came to a stream, for this, too, was on her map. Here the shrubbery grew surprisingly thin and a series of boulders tossed the water in a southerly direction with a cheerful bubbling sound. She realized this was the difference in the smell. The stream imparted freshness to the air.

  She paused and looked about her, settling the lantern at her feet. The moon was high and the dark night sky full of brilliant stars. A lovely breeze soughed through the nearby beech trees, a sound so sweet and pleasant as to make her sigh.

  Consulting her map again, she traced her path thus far with the tip of her finger. If she crossed the stream, there should be an old footpath not ten yards hence, one that would lead in a southeasterly direction toward an object described on the map as “ye olde well.” The distance from the stream to the well did not seem overly great, and she thought it likely that given so much moonlight, she could reach it within a scant few minutes.

  She did not deliberate long, but folded up her map and restored it to her pocket. She picked up the lantern and, making use of the flattest boulders, quickly crossed the stream. She found the old footpath easily, just as she thought she would, then hurried down it about a hundred yards until she reached a point at which the path diverged. This was on the map as well. The area was somewhat sloped, and a fallen log, aged by the weather, blocked part of the upper path.

  Exhilaration flooded her as she quickly took the lower path. Between this point and the avenue of Blacklands, the X marking the position of the treasure was firmly planted.

  This trail was far less clear, and more than once she stopped, held the lantern close to the grass, trees and shrubbery, and peered all around her in order to reconnect with the path. She did this again and again, moving as swiftly as she could.

  She came to a clearing and was a little startled to see a light, or rather several lights, visible from this new location. Her heart began to race. What was she seeing? Had someone espied her and was now marching in her direction? As she waited, however, she realized that the lights were stationary and that she must be looking at Blacklands, Lord Rotherstone’s house.

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  At the same time, she knew she must be closer than she had thought to the front avenue, which meant, if she had read the map correctly, that she had missed “ye olde well.” A strong sense of disappointment overtook her. She realized she had been quite naively thinking that the process of locating each marker on the map would be accomplished in a trice. Where, she wondered, had she diverged from the proper route?

  She lifted her lantern again, only this time she looked behind her at the path she had just traveled. There was nothing for it. She must retrace her steps and see if she had taken a wrong turn.

  She returned slowly, investigating every line of the path with great care. She reached the place where the two paths converged, but so intense was her concentration that, until she heard the pronounced snapping of a dry branch, she had not the smallest notion that anyone had drawn near.

  She whirled around, her heart once more in her throat, and lifted her lantern high. A veritable giant towered over her. She gasped, took three steps backward, then stopped. The giant jumped from the fallen log that partially blocked the upper path, and, though he had lost at least a foot of his height, he was uncommonly tall and quite broad shouldered.

  “You do not look like the usual poacher,” he began, his dark eyes scrutinizing her face carefully. “For one thing, such a person generally does not carry a lamp with him . . . or her. You also do not appear to be armed. Game is not your object, then?”

  Evelina could not speak. His voice had stunned her, for it was as though a strong bow had been drawn across the deeper strings of a violoncello. Something within her warmed immediately to the sound. Who was this tall stranger whose eyes were as dark as night? He was unutterably handsome, and there was something in the set of his countenance that made her think of ancient warriors. Was it possible this man was Rotherstone? In response to his question, she merely shook her head.

  “Are you mute?” he inquired in his gentleman’s accents, his gaze never straying from her eyes.

  “No,” she said at last. “Not by half. Are you . . . that is, are you Rotherstone?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No, I am not. I am at present visiting his lordship.”

  “I see,” she responded, relieved.

  “And yourself? Are you his neighbor, perchance? Lady Evelina Wesley?”

  She did not know what prompted her to deny herself, but so she did. “I am a cousin to her.”

  “And your name?”

  She paused and sought about for a simple appellation. “Arabella, er, Smith,” she responded.

  He bowed. “Well met, Miss Er. . . Smith. But I must ask, do you always take to trespassing when you visit your relatives, and that so late at night?”

  She did not know why she had begun telling whiskers, but for some reason she pressed on. “Always,” she responded with a challenging lift of her chin.

  He watched her for a very long moment without saying anything. She had the strong impression that he was attempting in some manner to determine her disposition or perhaps her character.

  He then closed the distance between them rather abruptly and took the lantern from her hand.

  Though she was surprised, she found herself grateful, since the lamp had grown heavy. “How very thoughtful,” she said. He then set the lantern on the grassy sward several feet away. She had thought he meant to carry the lantern and escort her back in the direction she had come, so she did not understand what he was doing.

  “What are you about? I believe I must return to Wildings. I will have need of the . . . lantern. Why do you look at me so strangely?”

  “You seem to be a very determined lady,” he said. “I find the quality . . . intriguing.”

  Somehow she had the strong impression he was mocking her.

  He returned to her, and, before sh
e understood what he intended, he slid his arms about her waist and pulled her tightly against him.

  “Sir,” she said, aware suddenly that she did not even know his name. “Whatever are you doing? This . . . this is most shocking. I beg you will release me at once.”

  Evelina could not have been more stunned. Her words, however, had little effect except to cause the gentleman to smile at her, but not a warm smile, rather the wicked expression of a man intent on devilment.

  “I will not release you,” he responded with roguish simplicity.

  Astounded, she simply stared at him, her mouth agape for a ridiculous length of time as she searched for the proper words with which to upbraid him for his quite horrid conduct.

  His smile broadened. “Hardly a ladylike expression,” he murmured.

  She clamped her lips shut, but this proved to be a terrible mistake, for in the next moment, he was kissing her. Never would she have expected her adventure to culminate in this, a kiss from a stranger.

  Her mind cried out to her that she ought to do battle with this wretched cur to force him to cease his ridiculous assault on her, but she was too stunned to do more than settle her hands on his arms.

  He drew back.

  “Release me,” she whispered.

  “Only if you tell me why you have trespassed on Rotherstone’s lands.”

  “Very well,” she responded. “Because I believe there is treasure buried in this vicinity.”

  “Treasure, indeed. Fascinating. So you paid a visit to Lady Evelina who in turn told you of the local legends, and somehow you determined to explore my friend’s lands and to see if you might get the treasure for yourself?”

  “Well, not precisely. I do not know if I intended to actually keep the treasure.”

  “How magnanimous of you,” he returned sarcastically. “You know, I believe I have changed my mind. I shan’t release you after all.”

  “How very ungentlemanly of you,” she said. “I had heard that Rotherstone was not a man to be trusted. I see that his friends are cut from the same cloth.”